I run into Clive G. somewhere and then visit his spartan house halfway up Kingston Hill, He rolls a joint or two which I smoke even though I don’t really get anything out of it. He is at uni, while I have dropped out, but this is of no consequence to either of us. It’s a very nice house, possibly a squat, and I am back in Brende Gardens, but this doesn’t fuss me especially. After a while he suggests, slightly tersely, that I roll a joint. I make my excuses and leave, and that’s all there is of that.